In the view of facts and probabilities like these, how great are the responsibilities of authorship! The poet Cowper in writing to his friend, the Rev. John Newton, weightily remarks: "An author by profession had need narrowly to watch his pen, lest a line should escape from it, which, by possibility, may do mischief when he has been long dead and buried. What we have done, when we have written a book, will never be known till the day of judgment; then the account will be liquidated, and all the good it has occasioned, and all the evil, will witness either for or against us."

Scarcely less responsibility is laid on the readers. To them, books may become fountains of knowledge and sources of pleasure, or they may poison their principles and corrupt their moral and intellectual powers. How needful

then is it to exercise care in the choice of the volumes they read, and to get from the good the instruction they were designed to impart ! It is believed that the writings of Mr. Mogridge, whatever may be their literary merit, are free from all that would injure the mind, or debase the affections. They evidently aim to give pleasure, to impart information, and to do good. They may, at least, serve as a relaxation from more solid reading; while they refresh the spirit

and agreeably fill up a few hours of leisure. Young persons, especially, may, by them, be induced to turn from a class of authors, whose works, however captivating in style, only serve to pervert the judgment and counteract religious impressions.

CHAPTER IV.

OLD HUMPHREY AS A TOURIST.

AMONG the peculiarities which had no small influence in forming the character of Mr. Mogridge, and qualifying him for his literary work, Iwas his love of travel. Seven years of his early youth were spent in a beautiful country district as a schoolboy. Here he imbibed an ardent and deep-rooted attachment to natural scenery. As he advanced in life, he sometimes visited the old city of Coventry, lingered in Warwick Castle by day, and in hoary Kenilworth by moonlight; musing, poetizing, and sketching, as fancy or inclination prevailed. A tour in Wales was undertaken, and Tintern, Llantony, and other venerable abbeys were visited. He had passed along the old Roman wall, and, with hazel stick in hand, had freely rambled through Cumberland and Westmoreland, roaming along the banks of every lake the two counties contained. The romantic hills and dales of Derbyshire, and the lovely landscapes of other counties, became familiar to his sight. It was to him a luxury to feel a

liberty-loving mood, leading him to roam abroad amid secluded scenery, to climb the heights, and plunge into the depths, to ramble unrestrainedly amongst objects of interest, to gaze on earth and sky, and to breathe freely the balmy breezes as they blew. For nearly thirty years, he made all but an annual visit to Herefordshire, in which county some of his favourite haunts are found, as Lasket-lane, the Ford and the Ferry, Carey and Capler Woods, the Old Court House, and Fawley Court. These places were the scenes of some of his adventures, recorded by him in the Old Humphrey papers. On one occasion, he set off with a warm-hearted friend to the celebrated ruin of Stonehenge, in Wiltshire; from thence he made his way to Southampton, Portsmouth, Brighton, and other points of the southern coast. Localities connected with British history were to him especially attractive; hence excursions were made to Hastings Castle, Runnymede, Torbay, Windsor, and other celebrated places.

In reference to his solitary rambles, he tells us that he had a habit of musing among the shadowy nooks of quiet spots. Silence to him had a voice that cried aloud to the heart, and he gathered much where little met the eye-pearls of thought and costly gems of profitable re flection.

“ I never gazed upon the sky,
But endless wonders met mine eye;
Nor found on earth a place so bare

And destitute, but God was there."

To his mind there were charms in the retired walks of a wide-spread park, in the lonely recesses of a wood, or among the moss-covered ruins of a monastery. He has been seen bending over the dark, deep waters of a pool, or wandering along the banks of an expansive lake. The shades of a quiet valley, or the rugged steeps of a mountain, would at times be peculiarly attractive. He found a well-spread feast in the wild berries of a wood, and a delicious draught in the running stream. Amidst such scenes and objects, in peace and quietness, he traced the wisdom, power, and goodness of God in creation, called to mind the manifold mercies of Providence, and meditated on the wonders of redeeming love. In these rambles, too, he cherished kindly feelings towards all mankind, and speculated hopefully on the future.

After well visiting some of the most interesting sites in his own land, Mr. Mogridge started, with a companion, on a walking excursion through a part of France. At the head of a note-book, in which he purposed to record his adventures, he made the following entry: "In this, and in